A Lifetime of Impossible Days

by Tabitha Bird

  She places the flower stem under a rock. ‘Did you know Tilly?’

  ‘No, but someone did. We’re not lost if people know us. Let’s pretend we do know Tilly and she’s in our thoughts and hearts. I don’t want her to be forgotten. I’m trying so hard not to be lost, Eden.’

  She stops, looking at Eli. ‘You can have your discussion with Mum later.’

  Eli folds his arms. ‘She’s ninety-three! Today is probably verging on too late. Tomorrow could be impossible –’

  ‘Enough!’ Eden snaps. ‘I can’t do this today.’

  ‘Can’t do what, dear? Can’t go left or right? Of course you can. I used to do that on drives all the time,’ I say.

  ‘You’re going to tell her about what happened and then stick her in some nursing home? I can’t bloody do it!’ She walks over to me, takes my arm.

  ‘“Bloody”? I’m not supposed to say that word.’ I try to understand why everyone is mad.

  She puts her arm around my waist, and her head turns to the sky. Maybe she’s looking for stars. I stare at the gentle crinkles around her eyes, so I don’t see the gravesite straightaway.

  When I turn around, Eli is standing over a mound of earth covered with tangles of grass. I look at the headstone.

  Sebastian Greggory Elkanah

  21 April 1988 – 1 November 1990

  Beloved son of Willa and Sam. Much-missed brother of Eli.

  My mouth is choked with words. Clouds float by unawares.

  There he lies. In the dead place. Seb is who I used to visit.

  ‘No!’ The memory returns: getting in the car and driving off that night.

  ‘Mum?’ Eden grips my elbow. ‘Well, speak up, Eli. All these years you’ve never asked your questions. How much longer are you going to wait?’

  My whole body shivers. ‘How did it happen?’ I ask. ‘Please, I have to know.’

  Eli guides me to a nearby bench and lowers me down. ‘Seb died the night you tried to leave Dad.’

  Eden sits next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

  ‘What are you saying?’ I look up at Eli.

  ‘I’m saying that you were very unhappy. There were things from your past that you couldn’t deal with. You wrote a note to Dad, to your Sam. Do you remember writing the note?’

  ‘Something about leaving?’

  Eli nods slowly. ‘Mum, you wanted to end your life. You wrote a note saying you were –’

  ‘Eli! We don’t need all the details. Just get to the point.’ Eden squeezes my hand.

  ‘Best I can guess is that Seb must have followed you down to the truck that night without you knowing. Dad wouldn’t talk about it no matter how much I asked him.’ Eli sits down on the other side of me and puts an arm around me gently. ‘I thought you wouldn’t talk about it all these years because … Mum, please tell me you didn’t take Seb with you on purpose?’

  Memories flood back.

  Driving down the road, the rain on the windscreen blurred with the tears in my own eyes. I wanted to end my life. I drove the truck out of Boonah and off that bridge. At the last minute, I saw a little face from the back seat pop up in my rear-view mirror.

  ‘But … I left him in his bed!’ How could it be?

  ‘Was there a way he could have followed you?’ Eli asks.

  I think back. Seb hiding under his bed. A story. There was a story. Seb was back in his bed when I kissed him goodnight, though, wasn’t he? ‘No, I …’ I stare off in the distance. What did I do?

  ‘What did I do, Eli?’

  ‘You walked out on Dad and me, and gave baby Eden to him to raise. We only ever saw you now and then. I thought you didn’t want us.’

  My eyes are wide and full of puddles. ‘So long ago … I don’t know. I was keeping you safe?’

  ‘From what?’ Eli moves back on the bench seat.

  ‘From me. So I wouldn’t lose you the way I lost Seb.’ That’s as much as I know. ‘Goodness, Eli. I’m sure I wouldn’t hurt Seb on purpose.’

  Eli wrings his hands together. ‘No, but why wouldn’t you speak about that night? You took yourself away from all of us. Why didn’t you stay and fight for our family? Dad still loved you – I know he did.’ He takes my hand.

  ‘Oh, Eli. All I can think is that I was so ashamed of myself.’

  Eli buries his head in his hands. ‘It’s okay. It’s okay.’ He pauses, then gathers himself. ‘I guess shame has kept us all mute. I never told you this, but before you drove off in the truck, little Seb woke up and wanted to sleep in my bed. I sent him back to his own room.’ He wipes his face on his sleeve.

  I guess that explains why I discovered him awake underneath his bed.

  Eli continues. ‘I wouldn’t let him because I thought he might wet my sheets, and after that he was gone with you. I blamed myself for Seb’s death.’

  I lean into him. The name Ruby-Jae aches inside me. Something about watching her.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. Tears make rivers that flow down to my chin.

  Eden loops her arms around us both. ‘It wasn’t your fault, either of you. It was a terrible accident.’ She wipes my face with a hankie from her bag.

  After a while, they help me up. They link arms with me either side.

  ‘Wait! Middle Willa doesn’t know what running away will cost her. Seb isn’t in the grave, he’s with Willa. I can stop this from happening.’

  I read the headstone carefully.

  Sebastian Greggory Elkanah

  21 April 1988 – 1 November 1990

  Seb dies on my birthday?

  Old age seems to triple in my bones all at once. ‘Do you see that?’ I point to the headstone. ‘Look at the grave!’

  Eli winces. ‘Yes, we saw it. I know that’s upsetting, but –’

  ‘No, look, the date!’ An anger fills me, even underneath my wrinkled skin. Especially under my wrinkled skin. Here I am, standing above Seb’s grave. I want to reach through the ocean-garden and kick Middle Willa into the middle of next week. She needs to see.

  Eden and Eli exchange looks.

  ‘I think we should go.’ Eden tries to lead me away, but I won’t be moved. Eli’s already at the car door, holding it open.

  ‘What month is it?’

  Eden is suddenly looking small and needy. ‘October.’

  ‘It’s October, not November?’

  Eden nods, but her eyes are searching my face and her grip on my arm is tighter. ‘I feel like I’m losing you. Every day is a little worse than the last. Tell me you’re okay. Tell me not to worry.’

  I pat her arm. ‘It’s okay. There’s still time. If it isn’t November then I have bought time.’

  ‘The saying is “borrowed time”, Mum, and I don’t think you can change –’

  ‘Borrowed time, bought time. Doesn’t matter, dear. Middle Willa’s thinking of doing something that will change everything.’

  While Eli helps me into the car, Eden talks to him in hushed tones. Something about ‘scaring her’. Talking to a doctor. Things happening too fast.

  Once in my seat, I say, ‘Fast? Yes, let’s go fast. Can you write about Seb in my notebook, Eden?’

  From the driver’s seat, Eden looks back at Eli.

  He says, ‘Maybe Mum needs to see it written down? Maybe it will help her let go?’

  ‘No. No letting go!’ I say.

  ‘It’s too upsetting. I’m not writing that down, Eli.’

  ‘But I have to go find Middle Willa and stop her from getting in the car. Please write it!’ There’s a beat too loud in my ears for any more words.

  After a moment, Eden says, ‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you’re saying, but you never laughed at me when I was little and said I wanted to be a Viking when I grew up. So, you keep looking, okay? Whoever all these Willas are, if you can’t find them, no one can.’

  Before driving off, Eden writes something in my notebook and hands it to me.

  When I get home that evening after the Oreo Visit at the Plastic-Sheet Hom
e, I read: 27. Seb will forever be in our hearts. We visited his grave in October 2050.

  ‘Eden?’ I ask. ‘Are these the right words?’

  Chapter Thirty-six

  1990

  Willa Waters, aged 33

  Spring settles across Boonah in a sudden spill of wildflowers. Australia returns to warm weather quickly, as if winter was a momentary distraction. Weekend tourists flock to quaint local cafés that serve pumpkin scones, macadamia slice and strawberry cake with cream so fresh the cows were probably milked only moments before.

  Sam has taken the children to Lake Moogerah, giving me the day to myself. They’ll collect wild cherry tomatoes growing in the scrub and come home with mud-caked knees. I stand in the kitchen making a tea to go with a scone I picked up in town, hoping that both will comfort my insides. But when I sit down to eat them I find I’ve lost my appetite to a vague nausea.

  I’m considering whether I need to go to the bathroom to be sick when the sound of a stone hitting my back door makes me jolt. When I open it, I see a lady in a tea-stained nightdress sitting at the top of my back steps.

  ‘Oh, thank goodness you’re here. Help an old lady up. Don’t stand there!’

  The smell of mint tea envelops me as I lift her to her feet. She pulls me towards her, this old lady with fierce arms and worn hands. All I can think of is how that smell, the mint tea, is a homecoming, and I find I can’t say anything at all.

  I try to take her in. Is this …? Could she be … Silver Willa?

  ‘Now, listen. Don’t you dare try to end your life!’

  I step back, nearly tripping over the doorframe. ‘What are you talking –’

  Before I can say more, my father walks up the back stairs, adding to my sense of displacement. He is fear embodied; he even smells like it, that humid air that sticks in your throat so you can’t swallow, the smell of drought, of earth where the creeks go begging and the clouds mock. He takes up all the space on my deck with both ease and violence, his feet wide apart. This time there is no door between us.

  ‘You aren’t answering your phone or the front door so I walked around the back.’ He is so sure he should have a place in my life. A shudder begins at the very core of me. At least my babies are not home this time.

  The mint-scented lady holds fast to my arm as she turns to meet him, a turn that takes time. Something about her is larger than my father. The way she arranges herself, the magic of someone who can simply be and not shrink back. He seems not to notice her. My own legs plant themselves at my insistence.

  My father continues speaking, though this time I notice the way one corner of his lip droops. His once-thick curls have been replaced with thinning roots. My father’s parents died before I was born, and he refuses to speak about them. It’s clear from his deep-olive skin and dark features that we have heritage outside of Britain on his side of the family. But today his features appear washed out.

  ‘I know things didn’t end well between us last time.’ His voice is measured. ‘Perhaps I scared you. I only wanted to see you and meet my grandchildren.’

  I’m unable to take my eyes off this old lady, who has moved in front of my father.

  She nods at me as if I am to say something. My mouth opens but no words come out.

  My father takes a ragged breath. He stares straight past her and says, ‘I want you to know that I have forgiven you.’

  He’s not even making sense. Everything inside me knots, but the old lady stands beside me now, her hand on my arm.

  My father’s words are coming from far away. He pushes a bunch of wilted flowers into my hands. I didn’t realise he was holding them.

  ‘Forgiven me for what?’ the old woman says to him.

  He continues like she hasn’t spoken. ‘I’ve been thinking about some things and … I may have been cruel to you many times because I was acting out of anger. I never forgave you for the things you did, but I want you to know that I have released you from that sin.’

  ‘Who are you, Jesus Christ?’ The old lady links hands with me. ‘Get off our land! This house doesn’t belong to you anymore.’

  He doesn’t react and I’m sure now that he can’t hear or see her. This could only be Silver Willa. I am standing beside my much older self, and the thought gives me strength. My father’s hands stiffen. And then I see him – I mean, I really see him. Not as a humungous thing with steel arms, but as this man, a man leaning on the stair rail for support. A man with a sun-whittled face who is only a few centimetres taller than me. He is no longer overshadowing a child.

  Courage wells inside me and I throw the flowers in his face. ‘Go! And don’t you dare come back here. I will not let you near my precious babies.’ It feels so good to say those words. Beyond good. Is there a word for proud and exhilarated and becoming yourself all at once? I see one of my son’s balls on the back deck, a shoe, a cricket bat. Whatever I can lay my hands on, I throw at him. More words spew out, nasty words. I shouldn’t say them, but they are such a relief. A volcanic rupture from inside me.

  All the way around the side of my house I hurl words and things at him as he flees, and I watch him drive away, off to whatever dank place he lives in.

  When I return to the deck, the lady in the tea-stained nightdress squeezes me tight.

  ‘That was well done,’ she says. We stand there holding each other a moment until my bones stop shaking.

  ‘Tell me your name?’ I need to hear her say it.

  ‘I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t introduce myself. Did you say you were making tea? Getting up your back steps has taken me all morning. I had to shuffle up on my bottom. When are you getting a ramp? My walker is still down there.’ She points and I retrieve it. Before I can say anything further, she uses it to shuffle past me into the house.

  ‘Goodness, dear. What’s the matter with your shoes? Where are your red gumboots?’

  I sigh. She’s right about my shoes. Uninspiring black flats.

  ‘Tea? I think you were making me some tea,’ she says.

  My legs move of their own accord. When I return with the tea tray I find her holding a painting of a little girl.

  ‘Oh, thank goodness! You became a picture-book-maker!’ She claps. ‘Super Gumboots Willa is going to be so impressed!’

  Resting the tray on the coffee table, I take the pictures from her. ‘It’s just something I’m … playing with.’ The word playing sounds so strange to my ears I’m not sure if I’ve said it right.

  ‘Keep playing! It gives you wings, you know,’ she says.

  Playing. Wings. Making things up. Something flutters inside me.

  ‘You are … Silver Willa, right?’ My hands tremor as I help her into a chair. The tea spills as I place the cup on the table beside her.

  ‘Good girl – yes!’

  My self at age ninety-three is really here and all I can do is stare and listen to the sudden whoosh of blood in my ears.

  Silver Willa pales. ‘I saw the thing that hasn’t happened yet, but we are borrowing time. I couldn’t buy it; Eden said so. You’re going to have to make do with what we have left.’

  I think I’ve forgotten how to think. Eden? Time she couldn’t buy?

  ‘It’s quite simple. You’re here, but there will be this grave and it will say Tilly’s name and, oh – we mustn’t forget!’

  ‘I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.’ I perch onto the couch, unsure what I’ve missed.

  ‘I’m talking about the graveyard, dear!’ She takes some deep breaths.

  Bless my older self. I guess many of her friends must have passed on, like Tilly perhaps. That must be what she’s talking about.

  Silver Willa sits up straighter when she says, ‘You have to stay here. In this house. Your house. Mine. Same, same. Don’t go away!’

  I give her a shy hug. ‘I’m here. The ocean-garden brought you to me this time.’

  Her face lights up like she’s remembered something. Then she wags a stern finger. ‘You didn’t collect the box. I had t
o have the post office send it again.’

  Before I can defend myself, there’s a scratching at the back door. A plump Chihuahua scurries inside when I open it, eating bits of crust left by the children under my kitchen table. It sniffs at this and that. The dog nuzzles my hand, and oh, those ears. Softest leather.

  ‘Frog Dog?’ I look over at Silver Willa.

  ‘Snorts like a bullfrog,’ she says.

  I scoop Frog up. I haven’t held her for such a long, long time. I place my cheek next to hers.

  ‘Oh, my Frog.’ At the sound of her name her tail wags harder and I remember the day I got her.

  Mummy’s belly was getting big again and I couldn’t climb on her lap. I missed Ruby-Jae.

  Mummy said I could have a dog.

  I didn’t want a dog.

  I didn’t want this new baby. Maybe we could leave it at the hospital?

  A bunch of puppies squiggled.

  ‘You choose, Willa. Which one do you want?’ Mummy said.

  ‘Any one?’ We were standing in the backyard of a lady who was selling puppies.

  ‘Any one you want. You’re picking a friend. It’s a big thing to choose.’

  Mummy shoved one in my arms, but the puppy was too squiggly and it slipped out of my hands. Mummy didn’t see.

  ‘Oh, puppy, sorry! Why are they so wriggly?’ I stomped.

  Mummy ruffled my hair. ‘They are Chihuahua pups, that’s why they’re so little. Be careful with them, now.’ She turned to the lady. ‘Willa loves puppies.’

  ‘I don’t want to drop them.’ I looked up, but Mummy was still talking.

  ‘This will be perfect for her. I don’t know why we didn’t think of a puppy before.’

  ‘What’s a chihua … a chiwow … What’s “perfect” mean?’ I asked.

  A tiny one with black ears licked my hand. I picked it up and it didn’t do squiggles. My hands could hold it!

  ‘I want this one. The others are dropped and I’m sorry, and I want to go home now.’

  ‘What are you going to call her?’ Mummy asked later.

  Mummy said my little sister would get born any day now. But I had a Frog Dog, so I didn’t want a baby. She might go to sleep and not wake up.

  I told Frog Dog about the new baby coming. Frog hated her. We both hated her. We sat in the garden throwing gumnuts and bark, not needing a sister.